


beneath the blackened eyes

by Angelicasdean



Series: Tumblr prompts [6]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Injury, Sleep Deprivation, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:54:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21731155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelicasdean/pseuds/Angelicasdean
Summary: Sean--Macguire asked“Did you see that? No?” for Arfer sil vu plais
Series: Tumblr prompts [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1565209
Comments: 9
Kudos: 76





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unsure if I'll add a second chapter or not!

He knows it's only a matter of time before he exhausted himself. He's already running on empty, but some things must be done.

It's not his fault that the gang was running bust this past week. He frankly didn't have time. Arthur blinks at the glaring sunlight as he rides back, hopping off of Shams' saddle and slinging the bloody doe carcass he'd hunted. His knees admittedly wobble underneath him, and his muscles feel worn out as he makes his way to Pearson's wagon.

With that deed done, Arthur turns on his heel, back again towards Shams. He has a lead lined up, if he leaves now, he'll probably be able to score it. 

Saddling up, Arthur rides again. "Ay! Ain't you just come back?" Sean shouts as Arthur passes by. Arthur turns towards him, "Ain't seen you around camp as much," almost sad, Sean sounds. A tight coil of guilt down in his gut, Arthur promises himself he'll try and sit with the gang tonight.

"Awh, 'm sorry Sean," Arthur apologizes, leaning out of the saddle a bit to knock his knuckles against Sean's hat, "Just busy is all," he says and Sean purses his lips. With that, Arthur squeezes Shams so she'd return to her trot.

  
It's almost midnight by the time he'd returned. World swirly with the dying down adrenaline. The job, as usual, went south somewhere. The house wasn't as deserted as he thought it be, and he had to dodge bullets down a stair case and runaway like a spooked rat. Didn't even manage to snatch more than a necklace or two, and a pair of earrings.

Tired, worn out and plain exhausted, the entire 4 days worth of work fall on his shoulder all too suddenly. Seemed to weigh him down as he stumbles to the Campfire and almost crashes down, but managed to do it gracefully enough that it isn't too suspicious.

Hosea would have his head if he knew of Arthur's tendencies.

Shifting, Arthur blinks at the swirl of a shadow at the edge of the tree line. One blink, it's gone.

He shakes his head. Soon enough, he'll have to get up again. In a few hours a stagecoach will be running, good take too. That reminds him... He needs dynamite.

The heat makes his fingertips tingly, legs unmovable as he snaps his head to the side, blinking wildly at the shapes that dance at the corners of his eyes.

This isn't normal...

Arthur presses his palms to his eyes, clearing them and blinking up at Charles, who stares at him curiously.

Night as dark as ink, a colorful swirl of wind behind Charles makes Arthur gawk, disappearing into the wind. His eyes slide down to Charles, the man having turned towards where Arthur was looking. A bit of relief, alot of curiosity, Arthur asks "Did you see that?" Charles turns towards him, eyebrows sawn tight in concern, and Arthur's cheeks heat up, "No?"

Charles shakes his head, and Arthur squirms uncomfortably. Maybe he'd been working himself too hard? Or maybe Charles missed it.

Looking around, Arthur decides he doesn't have much time to sit around. Sean isn't even here, out scouting for leads, or drinking, probably. Kid came back with a problem.

With a huff, and a shake of his own head, Arthur begins to sit up, color draining out of his face when something dragged him down. A hook tugging at his navel, and he finds himself with a fist full of dirt in his face. He groans, hand coming to touch the source, eyes flying wide in shock when he feels the warm sensation of his fingers getting coated in blood.

He didn't kill anyone tonight, he hadn't shot at any of the house owners.

Is it his own?

Warm hands wrapping around his shoulder, Arthur feels himself get dragged backwards, back colliding against something sturdy and warm. Charles' voice calling for help near his ears.

Slightly confused, Arthur blinks, trying to see what's wrong, only a minute later, when Hosea and Dutch flood his vision does he realize.

Oh... _he's_ hurt.

Blindly, Arthur reaches out, Hosea sliding beside him almost automatically. "What happened?" He asks and Charles says something that's entirely lost on Arthur. The world distorts one last time, a bright burst of light behind Arthur's eyes before he blinks, eyelids too tired to open again.

"No-Arthur? _Arthur_!" Dutch's voice fades out, and for a bit, all Arthur can hear is the blood rushing behind his ears, and then... Nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> according to several studies, as well as first person reports, many sufferers of gunshot wounds do not notice that they've been shot until an unspecified amount of time. In some cases, until the injury is pointed out

He was pretty sure that the world darkened by several shades, somehow the night stuck behind his eyelids even darker than the inky sky. 

There's a bright flash that stabs him, though, as soon as his eyes snap open. For a moment, he doesn't know where he is. Last he remembers he was heading to camp, after failing to get the score he'd been scouting for a full week and a half. The disappointment he'd been feeling resurfaces, drowning out his surroundings as he slowly tries to sit up. 

Did he sleep? He didn't remember reaching his cot. Actually, he didn't remember much after getting away from the angry homeowners. Must've caught up to him, the several sleepless nights he'd pulled just to make ends meet. He, at times, lost track of what day it is and which job he'd done. Little scribbles in his journal helped though, and soon the urge for sleep was nothing but a distant call at the back of his mind.

His stomach flares in pain when he's full up, and he drops a hand to it with a groan. Granted, his muscles had been aching before, from running around way too much, but never this bad. He didn't pay it much attention, grabbing his boots with a second groan and pulling them on with little care. He presses his palm to his eyes as he stands, stumbling out of the tent and squinting at the pale shade of the sky. He slept through the day... god... he had a few leads that were off in the morning, a stagecoach at noon.

He missed them, _goddamnit_. 

So many missed opportunities, so much money lost. He'll need to break his back for the next few weeks just to make up for them, and in the end... no one will probably notice. Not that he needs them to, he'd doing this for the sake of the gang and not the glory. Then again... a few thank you's wouldn't be too much to ask... would it? 

Shaking his head, a weird limp manifests in his right leg. Ignoring it, Arthur heads towards the stew pot. Not two feet away from his tent, a warm hand wraps around his forearm, forcing him to stand still. Charles fixes him a stern glare, and Arthur only meets it with a confused frown. "Why are you out of bed?" Charles asks, or demands, his tone is impossible to distinguish, "You need _rest_ " 

Without giving time to respond, Charles starts pulling him into the tent, and over his shoulder, Arthur notices Dutch approaching with a furious expression. Even more confused, and now a bit concerned, Arthur lets Charles push him back onto the bed. Apparently unsatisfied, Charles pushes Arthur's chest down further and until he's lying down. Dutch pokes his head into the tent, eyebrows knit tight and practically spelling _angry_.

"What are you doing up?" Dutch hisses, and Arthur shrinks. 

"I was just going to grab some stew," Arthur mumbles, like a guilty child, "I don't know why you're angry... I know I missed a few leads but I've got a few others lined up," he lies, he can go scouting around. "And you have to admit... that house job went wrong, but it weren't _my_ fault"

"What are you on about?" Charles asks, eyes tight with concern.

"I know I messed up a bunch but-"

" _Arthur_ " Dutch grits, and instantly Arthur clamps his jaw shut, sighing when Dutch's angry gaze met his. Almost in a split second, the fierce anger in his eye melts away into sadness, "I'm not angry that you didn't pull off some jobs, I'm mad that you worked yourself to shit and got shot," 

Oh, that explains the pains.

"I'm fine, Dutch," Arthur almost snorts, Charles' hard stare makes him roll his eyes, "I'll _be_ fine, then"

"Just, just rest... please," Dutch says, and Arthur sighs again, "I know, and I appreciate, how much money you've been getting us but there are others, son, that can work. You don't need to work yourself to near death," 

"Yeah," Arthur agrees, "maybe,"

"Not maybe," Charles confirms, "I can go help, Sean too. We haven't done much outside of hunting and guarding. We can take some of the load off of you," Charles looks towards Dutch, who nods in agreement, "You can't go on like that, you'll end up dead. And who would that help? No one."

Arthur stays silent, hoping the bed would swallow him whole, but it doesn't, so he nods. "All right, I guess,"

"Good," Dutch gives a firm nod, a deal sealed type nod. Turning to leave, Dutch pauses, spinning back again and point at Arthur "Rest," he says, and then to Charles, "Watch him, for me," 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but I didn't plan a second part beforehand. Hopefully, this is conclusive enough! thank you to the people who asked for a second chapter <3


End file.
